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Without the Sun
'Central Bazaar ' ---- :''Massive archways adorned with bas relief sculptures grant access to the central bazaar from the main thoroughfares that pass through the Market District: Providence Road to the west and east, Market Road to the north, and Guild Row to the south. :''The corners of the bazaar are marked by monolithic statues by artisan Harlim Nillu. The northwest corner features a forty-foot-tall rearing mongoose, the familiar of House Mikin. A snarling mudbear looms in the northeast corner, signifying House Nillu. At the southeast corner rears a stallion with an armored rider, the symbol of House Seamel. The southwestern corner is dominated by the massive form of a solid, intractable bull with curved horns, representative of House Lomasa. In the center of the bazaar rises a fifty-foot-tall snarling, rearing wildcat of House Kahar. :''Conspicuously absent from the statuary homages to the noble houses of Fastheld is the raven of House Zahir. In his entire career as an artisan of Fastheld, Harlim Nillu refused to craft the visage of the raven. He considered them an ill omen, particularly given the traitorous behavior of Goram Zahir during the First Wildling War. :Although some small concessions have been made to recognizing House Zahir on Guild Row and in the market quads, the city-state has remained true to Harlim Nillu's vision for the dominant design of the bazaar - free of significant Zahir presence. ---- "Staves and spears," Syton replies to Celeste. "I'm getting training from Duke Norran's man-at-arms, Master Stump. Though he's more like a slave-driver than a teacher." Syton Temple sits on a stall near the stables, talking with Celeste Mikin, who is standing nearby. Celeste Mikin pushes off the column, laughing as she shakes her head. "He didn't even give you a stave to keep?" She shakes her head in disbelief. "If you wish to ever learn a mace, I would not mind teaching you my friend." She leans back against the column crossing her arms. A cold night, with a slight breeze stirring the torches and sending shadows aflicker against the statues of the Central Bazaar: Kahar. Seamel. Lomasa. Mikin. All are represented. Except one. And here, perhaps, comes House Zahir's surrogate for the evening: a tall, slim figure in a violet cloak with the cowl drawn up, Thayndor Zahir, the noble unarmored and carrying no weapons other than the sword and knife sheathed at his hip. At least, such is the appearance -- and with Zahirs, as with everything, appearances are oft deceiving ... Above, on silent wings, a sentinel traces the Zahir's path - a raven, black against the black night sky, loops in lazy circles over the marketplace, floating on the cold breeze. "I train with a pine stick covered in padding," Syton says, canting his head to one side. "It's not a terribly menacing weapon." The freelander chuckles briefly to himself before adding, "I suppose I could have something threatening embroidered onto the pad." Celeste Mikin shakes her head, a smile still about her lips. "That doesn't seem as though it would do the trick. Perhaps I could let you try your hand with my mace?" Her gaze once more looking towards the stable entrance, an eye to Legacy. Uncaring -- or oblivious of -- the living monument to his House soaring above him, Thayndor Zahir begins to walk between the dancing shadows cast by the torchlight. Tones of red and yellow from the flame reach for his face, just enough to reveal his features; they depart, however, before casting him completely in their warmth. Syton thinks for a time, then shrugs his shoulders. "Perhaps," he repeats, "but hopefully it won't come to that. I'm confident that I'll be able to find a good smithy soon. Still, I do appreciate the offer." The young freelander's attention wanders the empty bazaar, falling briefly upon Thayndor's cloaked figure. He watches the other move along, apathetic look on his face. The bird spirals down, wings beating as it comes to rest on the Nillu mongoose's paw. It folds its wings, roosting there, it seems; a feathered addition to a statue of stone. Celeste Mikin follows the freelander's gaze, her smile quickly evaporating from her face. A hand lightly touching the leather thong to the mace. One hand darting out to in a protective stance to the freelander. Thayndor Zahir smiles to Syton and Celeste as he approaches; if he notices the hand on the mace, he gives no sign. The Zahir bows slightly at the waist, pausing to address the pair. "Lady Celeste, Master Temple. Good evening," he says. "A pleasure to see you both." Directly behind him looms the mongoose, raven resting lightly on its paw. "What?" Syton asks Celeste, raising an eyebrow at her alarm. As Thayndor approaches and makes himself known, there is a look of recognition on Syton's face. He lets himself down from the stall and bows slightly. "Good evening, my Lord," he says in greeting. Celeste's eyes lighting on the bird, a crease deepening her brow. White blonde tendrils cover her forehead from the previous wind, somehow forgotten. Her eyes darting to the Count, a tight strain to her voice. "Good evening, your grace." Begrudgingly leaning against the post once more, her gaze darting to the bird and then to the Count. Glittering eyes watch the scene below unfold, the guttering torchlight making the raven's eyes burn like embers in the dark. It simply preens, smoothing its feathers with its beak. Thayndor Zahir's brow creases sympathetically to Celeste's. "Is something the matter?" He asks, blinking at the woman from under his cloak. The Zahir tugs off his cowl, looking from Syton to Celeste and then over his shoulder, after their eyes. When his eyes return to the freelander and noble, he's as straight-faced as he was when he first looked away. "A loose raven. I don't believe it's that dangerous," he says to Celeste. "You needn't pull out your mace, certainly." The raven, if it was looking, may have seen Thayndor quirk an ironic smile. "His Lordship is correct, my Lady," Syton says with a glance towards Celeste. With a smile, he adds, "I'm sure your advantage in size is enough to overcome the beast, should it attack." The freelander turns back to Thayndor and inquires, "What is it that brings you through the market at so late an hour, my Lord? No emergency, I hope." Celeste continues to watch the creature her eyes creasing slightly until she shakes her head. Her gaze once more finding the Count, "your right, your Grace. Nothing more than a wild creature. Though strange the perch it chose." As Syton approaches the Count, she turns to speak with a young boy. "Yes little one, perhaps soon." The bird watches with unabashed interest, two bright points of fire tracking the movements of the humans below from the shadows of its perch. Thayndor Zahir shakes his head. "No emergency," he replies. "I am a man of the river; my schedule follows the water's tides, not the sun." His breath plumes out of his nose, coalescing into white streams in the chill night. He seems little affected by the cold, smiling enough at Celeste to show his teeth. "Why not the mongoose's paw? Soft and comfortable enough, and I'm sure he's quick enough to dart away should the beast of stone decide to awaken and swat him." He then appears concerned. "Asking the same question of you, Master Temple, I hope I will not find that -you- are here responding to some disaster?" Syton smirks a bit at Thayndor's remark to Celeste, glancing back to catch her reaction. "No, my Lord," the freelander replies as he turns back to the nobleman. "No emergency, my Lord. I follow the tides of trade--if I might use your comparison, my Lord--and they brought me here late. I would have been gone by now, had I not been fortunate enough to meet Lady Celeste." Celeste Mikin glances back to the group, "I'm sorry, Master Temple. I did not mean to keep you." Her eyes once more going towards the mongoose, as she shakes her head. "Would seem I'm the only one that does not follow the tide." With the whirring of rings the raven flits up, to the mongoose's head, a slightly higher vantage - and one more exposed to the cold breeze, feathers ruffling in it. Thayndor Zahir holds up a finger. "Ah, but Lady Celeste, we all follow the Light," he reminds the Mikin. "As you may know, the tides follow the moons. And do the Moons not follow the Sun, cooling what it heats so its rays do not burn us all away?" Syton bundles his cloak a bit more tightly around him. He just makes a little, thoughful, "hmmm" noise at Thayndor's comment, considering his words as he looks to Celeste. Celeste Mikin says, "If you say so, your Grace. Though there are some who would say the would like to blot the other out. But I know it is not religion that has stopped you this evening. If you need to speak with Master Temple, I can of course head toward the tavern, and even a bed." She glances back to the stable." The bird seems remarkably uninterested in the conversation, at this point - it simply pecks speculatively at the mongoose's eye socket, worrying at the stone, wings flicking to aid its balance. "Falsehood," Thayndor replies. "Without the Sun, would the moons have purpose? And conversely for the sun?" The Zahir smiles. "I am here to see who else is here, and to meet with a merchant early tomorrow morning. It's not overly cold; I would be honored to hear your thoughts on religion, learned as you are. But if you are tired, of course I would not keep you." "I have not the hubris to think that His Lordship would brave the cold and the darkness to share words with me," Syton answers, managing to sound reasonably humble. He smiles faintly and adds, "Besides, if wars are fought and people killed over it, then why should religion not be a good enough reason to stand in the cold?" Celeste Mikin says, "Because there were some deaths that should not have occurred. There are times when some go to far." Celeste turns her head once more to stare down the market, a haunted look crossing her face before she looks away." Above, the worrying continues, those ember-red eyes looking down into a crack of the stone, the bird pecking at.. something. "And that is when balance must be restored," Thayndor replies, mildly -- almost gently -- while studying Celeste's expression. "And women and men must cease to do as they are told and act instead as they believe is right." Syton's smile widens and he takes different look, something like admiration, as he listens to Thayndor. "Well said, my Lord," is his only reply. Celeste Mikin says, "I never said you were wrong, your grace," strain tainting her voice as she says this. "But there was wrong on both sides. Now we stand in a new day, whether it is good or bad, is yet to be seen."" The raven settles down, the humans perhaps proving more interesting than the unyielding stone. In any case, it watches below, first one eye, than the other, as words are tossed about. "Or even if it is enough one or the other that we can measure it as such," Thayndor replies, musing. "Though it is, as you said, a new day. Look. The raven and the mongoose appear to be getting along well enough, don't they?" He gestures to the raven -- the raven he had not seen as it gnawed the stone statue's eye. Syton pauses for a moment in thought. Finally, he opens his mouth and speaks in a tentative voice. "I hope that proves to be true, my Lord," he says, "but I have doubts." Celeste Mikin says, "Your Grace, I will not pretend to such pleasantries. You wish to test my resolve, you have but to ask." She crosses her arm, leaning on the column once more. "These are different times, and we have all done things we would have regretted in another light. Yet, as you said, here we stand."" If a bird could look unimpressed, this one does. Beyond that? It hunkers down on the mongoose's head, talons digging into the stone against the wind. "I fear I'm talking too long on a sensitive subject," Thayndor says with a small, apologetic smile and a slight bow. "If you'll excuse me, I'll take my leave, but I will say this: as you put it, here we stand. The world is not as it once was, and to make the best of what it now is, we must shake every notion once held impermeable like the stone of these statues. Only the ones worth keeping will stand and not crumble." The Zahir reaches back for his cowl. Drawing it up, he adds, "I hope I have not said too much. Light keep, Lady Celeste, Master Temple." With a swirl of violet cloak, he turns to walk south. "Light keep you, my Lord," Syton says, lowering his head to the noble. He glances across one shoulder to Celeste, watching her curiously for a moment. Quickly, he returns his attention to Thayndor. "I was tired, my Lord," he says quickly. "My headache the other night. I hadn't slept." Celeste Mikin sighs heavily, "why does everyone say that to me," she growls softly to herself. "Dammit, if I believe the ways of those before me, I would still be standing there." She tosses her voice louder to be heard as the Count turns to go. "Light Keep you safe, Count Thayndor." As the nobleman turns to leave, the raven rouses itself, streching its wings. A beat, then another, and it launches itself into the air, trailing after the man as he walks - flitting from statute, to awning, to post in the nobleman's wake. Thayndor Zahir smirks over his shoulder at Syton's comment. "I'm sure," he says, face cast in dramatic shadows, before turning and departing with no further sound save the rustle of his cloak and the flutter of raven's wings in his wake. Syton turns from Thayndor to look briefly at Celeste, then up to the sky. "Light save me," he murmurs to himself. ---- ''Return to Season 5 (2007) Category:Logs